We spent an amazing yesterday at the Swedish Massage Institute.
For fifty bucks, you can spend a full day in a workshop learning, giving
and receiving Swedish and Shiatsu massage techniques with a friend,
amidst a beautifully diverse cross-section of New York couplings…

-The glowing, cafe-au-lait-colored Raquell was there with her mom.
-The delicate and Japanese Hirome brought her spongier brother, Hiro.
(He squished her a little during Shiatsu; she choked him a little when
it was her turn.)
-A frizzy-haired blonde girl brought her frizzy-haired silver mom, who
mimed the instructor’s hands as he worked on the first volunteer.
-Diane, in her Phat Farm sweatsuit spoke in Spanish to Armande.
-The sweaterdress lady in pumps spoke in Polish to her dark-haired husband.
-The bald, blue-eyed, GermanEddie came alone and was paired up
with the skinny, GreyingDavid, who wore his pants both too big, and too high.

Everyone laughed when i said that my favorite part was Scout snoring a little
during Swedish (in a way that made us think they had heard it, too).

The massage and T’ai Ch’i master, Bob